Friend in a Stranger
by pumpkin-patch
Summary: Fear makes strangers of people who would be friends.- Shirley MacLaine. In 2305, Sylar and Claire are captured by the Company, whom they thought didn't exist. What happens when they're forced to work together to return to the the lives they once had? AU
1. Prologue: Aftermath

_**A/N: Just wanted to let you guys know that while I essentially see this fic as a follow up to "More Pain Than It's Worth," I'm attempting to write it so you don't have to read that to understand it. I just kinda felt like it wasn't finished, and this is what I came up with. It is slightly AU, and I have a feeling that some of the characters are going to seem a bit OOC at times (which I sincerely apologize for). I'm still hammering out a lot of the plot, so please, bear with me.**_

**Disclaimer: I do not own Heroes, nor do I own any of the characters in the TV show. This fic is written merely for entertainment purposes only. I do not gain any profit from it, and no copyright infringement is intended.**

For the first time in over 100 years, the small city of Odessa, Texas was sent into pandemonium. Out of nowhere, alarms began sounding... alarms that hadn't sounded since the last world war. Were those... yes, they were radiation alarms. But, what could cause so much radiation without appearing on the radar?

Naturally, such an event was immediately reported to the president, who was currently in treaty negotiations with the European Union. Instantly, hostilities between the ever suspicious super powers flared, and the event was immediately called off, with each power going to red alert. Ever since the unstable peace treaty had been signed, they'd been looking for a way to get the other in trouble. Now, with the US accusing the EU of a radiological attack and the EU denying it, both countries were readying themselves for a possible war.

In the meantime, a swarm of soldiers and scientists had descended upon the city, cordoning it off. No one in or out until they could find out what was going on. People were ushered into houses, hotels and virtually and location where they could be controlled. Soon enough, night descended, and the military declared martial law. No one was to leave where they currently were unless it was an absolute emergency, and even then, they'd be escorted by a team of soldiers. It was around 0300 that a major discovery was made.

"Sergeant, we've got two people here!" a random soldier yelled into the radio in his helmet. "One of them looks like they're shot! And radiation readings are off the chart here!"

Within five minutes, the small street in front of a sleek, futuristic home was teeming with soldiers and scientists. Gadgets and gizmos were beeping and buzzing as data was taken. As scientist took a closer look at the two people, he made a shocking discovery.

"They're still alive! My word, they're still alive! Someone get them medical care!"

* * *

It was standard protocol in the hospital to scan for identification chips once a patient was stabilized and settled in a room. Therefore, it was only natural for doctors and nurses to be perplexed when they couldn't find a chip in either of the patients. It had been a global mandate issued in 2152. Everyone was chipped. So, why weren't they? What did they have to hide?

Thus, they moved on to more archaic and primitive methods of identification- dental records and fingerprints. Even if they weren't chipped, they'd be on file somewhere. True, it'd take significantly longer to compare them to all the records on file, but they'd get ID'd one way or another. While they waited, though, the nurses set to doing what they did best- gossiping about the patients.

"Did you see that man?" one asked. "He must be some sort of poor person, what with the state of his clothes, all the stubble on his face and the callouses on his hands."

"But did you see the tags on his clothes?" Another countered. "Designer labels. They were a bit out of season, but they had to be expensive."

"I heard the girl was found with a syringe near her. Didn't we eradicate all illegal drugs?"

"They found a strange bullet in the man... part of it was made of glass. The surgeons spent a ton of time trying to get it all out of him."

Of course, to them, a ton of time was any amount of time longer than 30 minutes, seeing as most surgeries were now done by robots who could get the job done in sometimes mere seconds. Such was the world of medicine, though.

"I heard their blood-work came back with some really strange results."

"I heard the same thing... something about a really strange virus that they'd never seen before."

Out of nowhere, the computer beeped and one of the nurses walked over to it.

"We've got the ID results for the male. His name is-"

She was cut off as it beeped once more.

"The female's just came in too. Her name is-"

Once more, the computer beeped as yet another result came in. Within a few seconds, the computer was beeping out of control as it was flooded with results tracing back to the 1900s. Immediately, the nurse summoned a doctor, who summoned a soldier, who in turn summoned a scientist.

"This is impossible," the scientist said, rapidly sifting through all the data as he spoke. "Everyone has unique fingerprints. For these two people to have records spanning over three centuries is just completely madness."

"So, what do you suggest we do?" the soldier asked, shifting his weapon unconsciously. The scientist looked up and pushed his glasses further up his nose before answering.

"I-... I believe we need to turn them over to a higher authority."

"Like what? The police?"

"No. The government."

* * *

Several hours later, two unconscious bodies were pushed down a long corridor on stretchers, followed by a large medical team and several armed guards. The corridor was one of many in a secret government base located under Washington DC. Though there were many theories about it, very few people definitively knew that the base existed.

A man in a smart suit stepped out of his office and met up with the large group. They got the two people settled in individual rooms and then convened in a large conference people. Immediately, the man made sure it was clear that he was the boss by standing at the head of the table. He leaned forward some, his fingers touching the cold metal surface.

"All right, people. Lemme hear what you got."

One man in a lab coat stood up and opened two files.

"We've got one male and one female, both of whom are exhibiting a strange history and interesting medical work."

"How strange of a history?"

"We're talking a history that spans over three centuries, Sir," a new woman answered. "Bank records, job history... hell, we've even got them on file."

"We've got them on file?"

"Yes sir. We do."

She reached in her briefcase and produced two large manila files and a computer disk.

"Everything we have on them."

The man took them, and turned to the large group of people in front of him.

"I want round the clock surveillance. Do not let either of them wake up... constant sedation. And for God's sake, don't let them get away." He paused, looking at each person individually. "This could be the moment we've been waiting for."

* * *

A couple of hours later, the man sat down at his desk and flipped open the manila files while putting the disk in his computer. An array of data and profiles was displayed before him. Sighing, he turned to his computer.

"Computer, read profile for file number one."

A pixelated image of a man with dark eyes and hair was projected in the center of the room.

"Subject Case File ID: Gabriel Gray. Known aliases: Sylar. Nationality: American. Date of Birth: Unknown."

The man tuned out as the computer continued to read through the basic information.

"Unique ability: Intuitive aptitude."

The man looked up as the computer rambled on, shock in his eyes. Where had he heard that before?

"Computer, stop read."

The voice fell silent, and the man flipped through the file before him. Was this... yes. They'd alluded to him when they'd chosen him for this position. Supposedly, he couldn't be caught. And yet, here he was, right in their base.

"Computer, read file two."

"Name: Claire Bennet. Known Aliases: Claire Butler. Nationality: American. Date of Birth: Unknown. Year of birth: 1990. Unique ability: Cellular regeneration."

Immediately, the man picked up his communicator and signaled for the director.

"Director, this is Bennet. We've found them."


	2. Awakening

**_A/N: Here's the next installment in "Stranger in a Friend." Once again, please bear with me, as I'm still hammering out plot details and whatnot. Thanks to those who've reviewed, favorited, etc! Reviews and constructive criticism are always appreciated! :)_**

**Disclaimer: I do not own Heroes. This fic is written merely for entertainment purposes, and no personal profit is derived from it. No copyright infringement is intended, either.**

Several different thoughts ran through Sylar's head as he woke up. For example: what was that incessant beeping in the background? Why did the back of his neck hurt? Why did he feel like he got sucker punched in his gut? And why did this place smell like a combination of a military base and a hospital?

Of course, then the events before he slipped into darkness came rushing back at him fast than he could handle. His heart raced and his back arched as he he inhaled, seemingly drawn off the bed by an unseen force. All the memories... he felt like his mind was being torn apart. Was this how his victims felt as he cut off their skulls?

Alarms sounded from all around him, and unbeknownst to Sylar, a team of doctors and soldiers ran into the room. Though he couldn't see, his dark brown eyes darted around the room madly, giving him the air of an insane man. The doctors shouted orders at each other while the soldiers readied their weapons. Special as he seemed, they weren't taking any chances with this man.

It took almost three times the normal dose to sedate him, and even then, the doctors were afraid it'd wear off too soon. He'd been given enough to keep him sedated for eight hours, and yet it seemed his body metabolized it in nearly half that, possibly even less. Was this going to be the case with the girl they'd brought in? The doctors hurried over to her room and immediately started taking her stats, trying to figure out if she'd do the same thing. It seemed she was fine for now, but they made a note to continue to monitor her. Just like the other man, they couldn't afford to take any chances.

But, how were they able to do this? How was it that the man was metabolizing the drugs faster, and the woman was unconscious without a single mark on her?

Though the doctors weren't sure of the answers, they were sure of one thing- these two people were incredibly different. And because they were different, they were dangerous.

* * *

Sylar was in agony. Not physical agony. With all the drugs that were coursing through his system, he probably wouldn't feel a thing for a long time. Of course, with the regenerative power he had, he seldom felt pain as it was. No. Instead his mind was in agony.

While the virus rendered him merely unconscious and in a comatose state, it also managed to send his normally compartmentalized mind into chaos. All the memories he'd had carefully stored in the back of his mind somewhere were now strewn to the front. He saw things he'd forgotten he'd done, and things he wanted to forget he'd done. He remembered his childhood, or lackthereof, and being sold, traded like an animal, to his aunt and uncle. He remembered his aunt telling him he was special, and the misery he felt when he became a watchmaker, just like his uncle. He remembered the eclipse... and then everything changed.

Around him, he vaguely heard voices yelling. Were these his memories or a strange trick played upon him by his mind? What were they saying? What did it mean?

As his mind raced faster than it ever had before, he caught snatches of shouted conversations.

"...Need another dose!"

"...Severe cardiopulmonary distress..."

"...Brain scans are off the charts..."

"...Where's that dose?"

All the confusion was foreign to him. He was the one who was always in control. Why had that changed now?

Darkness swirled through his mind, and he could feel his senses dulling. The agony slowly disappeared and he felt like he was floating away. Though he usually would rebel against it, for some reason, Sylar welcomed it, slipping into it with a gracious internal sigh.

* * *

"It was the strangest thing, Mr. Bennet," a doctor started. "All of a sudden he woke up. We gave him enough sedative to keep him knocked out for most of the day, and yet he managed to metabolize most of it." The doctor opened the clipboard that held the man's chart and pulled out a folded piece of paper. Mr. Bennet took it and unfolded it.

"What am I looking at?"

"Brain waves, sir. He woke up, and immediately his scans were off the chart." He paused, flipping the chart closed before looking back at Mr. Bennet. "In all my time working here, I've never seen anything like it."

"Do you have video of the event?"

"Yes sir."

"Good. Get security to send it to my office."

"Consider it done, sir."

Half and hour later, Mr. Bennet found himself in his office, scanning through the short episode. He reached up to his interactive console and swept the bar on the bottom back some, rewinding and watching it again. Pausing at a moment, he zoomed in on the man's face. Was that... fear?

"Found anything yet?"

Mr. Bennet jumped at the voice and turned around to find the director standing in his doorway.

"I'm not sure," he answered hesitantly. "I'm just... I'm really confused and amazed at the same time. I mean... Sylar's over three hundred years old. He carved a path of destruction and chaos after the eclipse, and then suddenly fell off the radar. People don't just fall off the radar, Director. Everyone leaves a trace. And even then, somehow he managed to get around without being chipped, when the ID chips are an important part of every person's life. Hell, you can't even go into most buildings without having a chip in you."

The director walked over to the table that stood in the middle of the office and sat down next to Mr. Bennet.

"Jarek," he started, using Mr. Bennet's first name, "think about it. He's an evolved human... a type of thing we've spent years trying to track down. And, not only is he a human, but he's a human with intuitive aptitude. Lord knows he probably figured out how the chipping system worked before we even knew what it did."

"And the girl?"

"An old flame of his who decided to take revenge for something?" the director suggested. "For right now, she doesn't matter. She's just extra baggage that somehow got brought here."

"She's got multiple identities like him."

"So maybe she's running from her past."

"Sir, her records go back as far as his do. I really think she's important somehow."

The director pinched the bridge of his nose between his thumb and index finger and let his breath hiss out of him before speaking again.

"She might be important, but for now, we need to focus on Sylar. He's managed to escape our facilities before. I don't want him to escape again."

* * *

_Alarms sounded all around him, and Sylar quickly scanned through the data streaming in on the tiny display above his right eye. He turned to his CO._

"_They've activated it. The pulse machine. They've activated it. Radiation readings are off the charts."_

_His CO sighed. They all knew what would happen if that thing went off- the world would end. First, thousands of people would be killed. Then, the survivors would have to attempt to rebuild from a ruined society. They'd be forced into primitive conditions... no electricity, no running water... nothing. If they didn't die from radiation poisoning, then they'd have to fight the elements. The entire meteorological system would be thrown off. Winters would be colder, summers hotter and the world entirely wild. Eventually, the few people who'd managed to make it through all the prior tribulations might be able to rebuild, but the planet would be forever changed._

_Of course, Sylar knew that there were only two people who were guaranteed to survive this entire mess. In fact, he was pretty sure that one of those people who'd survive was the person who'd created this machine. He'd seen it on the news... 'Claire Baxter Receives Doctorate in Radioactive Sciences; Becomes Worlds Youngest Doctor.' And now, he had to go destroy what she'd worked so hard to create._

"_Give me some charges," he told his CO. "I'll try to destroy it."_

_His CO shook his head._

"_No way, Grayson. Not happening."_

_As his CO walked away, Sylar grabbed his CO's arm and turned him around._

"_I can do this, Lieutenant. I know I can." His CO didn't say anything. "Just give me a chance. You'll see. I'll get this taken care of."_

_Sighing, his CO ushered him over to the armory and set to outfitting him with the required supplies. When he was done, he turned to Sylar, worry evident in his eyes._

"_You always seemed to have a death wish, Grayson." He shook his head. "I just hope you know what you're getting yourself into."_

"_I do, Sir. And I promise, I'll make it out of there."_

_With that said, Sylar did the opposite of any sane person. He took off running towards the danger. When he was far enough away, he turned all his communication devices off and leaped into the air. In a manner of minutes, he arrived at the device, a task that would've taken at least and hour on foot. Sometimes, these abilities really did come in handy. He made a mental note to go thank the late Nathan Petrelli for the flight._

_Thousands of EU soldiers were swarming around the device, attempting to figure out how to disarm it. Sylar landed behind them and ran in, holding his hands up._

"_I'm here to help!" he yelled as at least thirty guns were pointed at him. A large, burly man walked up to him._

"_What do you want, American?" he asked in a thick German accent._

"_I'm here to help," Sylar told him. "I can disarm this thing."_

"_And why should we trust you?"_

"_Because if this thing explodes, it not only destroys your world and life, but mine too." The EU man stared at him and Sylar sighed. "To let it explode would be illogical." The EU man still said nothing. "Oh, for crying out loud! Do I have to fucking spell it out for you?"_

_The EU soldier jumped and shook his head before barking orders at his men. They escorted Sylar into the machine, where he immediately set to looking at the computers. He listened to the hum and whir they emitted, and eventually, he figured out how to deprogram it. With a few deft strokes on the keyboard with his long fingers, Sylar not only deactivated the machine, but he deprogrammed it all together._

"_I want you and your men to get out of here. I'm going to destroy this thing once and for all."_

_The EU soldier nodded hesitantly, and as they left the area, Sylar took to strategically placing demo charges all over the machine. Then, he ran into the core of the machine, taking out the radioactive material. Immediately, he began to get radiation burns all over his body. They hurt in the beginning, but then they healing process began, and he didn't feel any pain. As he ran from the machine, he could hear the charges beginning to detonate. Leaping into the air, he barely avoided getting blown up along with the machine. He pushed himself up into space, and proceeded to heave the radioactive material, along with his remaining explosives into the great abyss. There was a huge explosion that threw him down to Earth, his body getting burnt in the process. He landed near the base he'd left merely hours before. Sitting up, Sylar proceeded to pull his limbs back into place, allowing the healing process to take place. He walked into the base and bee-lined to the lieutenant's tent._

"_Consider the machine destroyed."_

_Then he went to the medical tent and collapsed, his body still attempting to heal the massive internal injuries he'd tried so hard to conceal. His vision swirled into darkness, and he fell unconscious.

* * *

_

When Sylar regained consciousness again, his thoughts were surprisingly clear. No longer were memories swirling around in his head, driving him insane. Instead, he was able to focus... to attempt to figure out where he was. It was a lovely feeling, being in control of something once more. He was tempted to open his eyes and get a clearer sense of where he was, but he decided against it. It would probably be best for him to literally lie low.

Taking a deep, steady breath, Sylar attempted to gather as much information as possible from his remaining senses. He could feel restraints on his wrists and ankles, and above the humming, whirring and beeping of all the machines in the room, he could hear a hallway. Shoes squeaked, papers were flipped and voices spoke in hushed tones. He could smell disinfectant, and for some reason, he also caught a whiff of gunpowder.

A door opened and shoes squeaked on what sounded like tile. He heard someone pick something up at the foot of his bed and some papers were flipped. Another set of shoes entered the room.

"How is he?" a female voice asked.

"Still sedated," a male's answered. "Have you checked on the girl recently?"

"She's still sedated too. In fact, I don't think she's woken up once since she's been here." There was a pause. "The lab tests on their blood came back. It's negative for all known viruses. Whatever they have is... different. I'd even say it was new."

The man didn't say anything, but Sylar could hear his pen scratching on paper.

"Maintain this level of sedation and keep the guards posted outside. When we're certain they're stable, we'll move them down to the cells. For now, I want them staying here, regardless of what Bennet says."

"Yes sir."

Sylar's head spun. Bennet... he hadn't heard that last name in years. In fact, he'd reckon that he hadn't heard that name in almost centuries.

At least know he knew where he was. It seemed the Company was still out there. And they'd found him and Claire. While Sylar was uncertain of many things at that moment, of one thing he was sure- he was being imprisoned against his will again.

And eventually, he was going to get them out of there.


	3. Drugged

_**A/N: Here's the next chapter in this little fic. I think I've got most of the plot hammered out now, so from here on out, it's just a matter of me having free time to write. Also, please note that there is a little section in here that deals with Sylar's past. While I did my research and tried to be as canon as possible, there were parts where I could only speculate about our favorite serial killer's past. Once again, thanks to those who've reviewed. Reviews and constructive criticism are always much appreciated! I really love knowing where I can better my writing! :)**_

**Disclaimer: I do not own Heroes, nor do I own the characters in this story. Heroes is owned by NBC. No personal profit is derived from this story, nor is any copyright infringement intended.  
**

The days passed slowly for Sylar as he feigned unconsciousness. It was actually a rather monotonous process, and in three days, he was pretty certain that he'd slept more than he had in the past ten years. Had this been 150 years ago, he probably would've just gotten up, slaughtered them all and escaped, leaving Claire to suffer whatever cruel fate she'd have. Of course, over the years, Sylar had learned that, while infuriatingly slow sometimes, patience was a virtue. He had to learn their patterns... figure this group out. Sure, it was taking a little more time than he preferred, but he'd deal with that. For now, he'd wait.

It was his fifth day being in that place when the soldiers came up and wheeled his bed from his room. All previous experience told him that this would be the time to escape. They were unprepared, and with his powers, he could easily overtake them. The only problem was, he had no clue where in the world he was. And, he had no clue how to get out of this place. Sure, he could probably just teleport himself out of here. But when Hiro taught him how to use the power, he made it clear that teleporting to somewhere he didn't know could be incredibly dangerous, and possible fatal. Sylar wasn't afraid of much, but being trapped in a wall or something like that did make his heart-rate increase some.

The room he was put in was colder than the last one. He heard the nurses counting as they lifted him from the warm, comfortable hospital bed and placed him on what felt like a cold, hard cot. He could hear them setting up another IV bag and the gentle tap of someone knocking air bubbles out of a syringe. Then, everyone walked out of the room and it was silent. Sylar was half tempted to get up and walk around, trying to figure out where he was. As he contemplated the action, though, he felt himself getting drowsy. Maybe it'd just be a good idea to go to sleep. Yeah... that sounded about right.

Letting a low sigh out, Sylar let himself slip into the darkness again, all thoughts of escaping leaving his mind.

* * *

Groaning, Sylar slowly woke back up again, feeling oddly groggy. His thoughts were fuzzy, and somewhere in the back of his mind, he knew there was something wrong. Why did he feel this way? Why did his fingers feel heavy? And most importantly, why was the back of his head near his ear hurting?

Blearily, he opened his eye. The brown orbs were unusually foggy and unfocused. Moaning incomprehensibly, Sylar looked around the room. Finally, his eyes landed on the blurry form of someone standing in the corner. He tried blinking a few times to get the figure to clear up but ended up failing. The figure pushed himself off the wall, walking towards him.

"I was wondering when you were going to wake up," he started, drawing closer. Reaching down, he grabbed Sylar's hair and picked his head up. Sylar gasped in pain, his body limp as a ragdoll. The unknown man tutted some, letting Sylar's head fall back on to the cot. "You know, I was expecting something more from a serial killer... you know, more blood, guts and gore." He paused, shaking his head. "I have to tell you- I'm a little disappointed."

"Pardon me... for not meeting your expectations," Sylar said, his words slurred. His tongue felt thick, and he stumbled over the words. He wanted to reach up... to find out what was making his head hurt. But his arms felt so heavy... he felt so... weak.

"You'll have to forgive me for your lack of accommodations. See, we just can't have sociopathic serial killers running around. I'm sure you know how it is." There was a pause as the man walked around the head of the cot, his footsteps echoing around the room. "You know, I'm actually surprised you managed to keep yourself hidden this long. Usually we find your kind quite easily. The fact that you managed to elude us for so long is a testament of sorts to your power."

Sylar groaned, the pain in his head intensifying.

"What's wrong... head..."

"Oh, that? We just put a shunt in it, just like they did last time you were down here. Of course, we've got a different drug being pumped into your head. Mind you, we're still giving you enough to... how did they put it? 'Kill an elephant?' That sounds about right." The man leaned over Sylar's face, his warm breath sticky on his skin. Sylar was able to make out familiar brown hair and hazel eyes. Where did he know those from?

"Who are...?"

"Me? I'm Jarek Bennet." Sylar's eyes widened in shock. Bennet? They still worked for the Company? "Don't look so shocked, Mr. Gray. The Company's very much so a family business. Once you get in, it's hard to get out. Not that I'd ever want to leave, mind you. Hunting down people like you... let's just say it's made my life very lucrative and... fulfilling."

Jarek continued to walk around the cot, sizing up the man before him. It was hard to believe that the once feared serial killer was now lying in front of him, completely helpless.

"You know, that little stunt you pulled in Texas really scared a few people," he commented flippantly. "You managed to set the entire nation on red alert. We had to close down all of Odessa... cordon it off... no one in, no one out. It was by sheer luck that we found you. Lord knows that had we not, you could've just healed and walked away."

Healed? Walked away? What was this crazy man talking about?

And then Sylar remembered. He remembered Red Square... being shot by Claire's CIA friend. He remembered grabbing here... teleporting them to Odessa, where it all began and was supposed to end. He remembered injecting Claire with the virus. And he remembered dying.

Of course, now he realized that he'd merely fallen unconscious, the cellular regeneration hindered by the virus that was supposed to kill him. Thinking about it, he couldn't help but to chuckle inwardly. Silly little Claire. Hadn't he told her that there was no way they could die? When would she ever learn?

"What... are you going... to do with me?"

"You? Well... to be honest, you probably don't want to know. It'd just cause you undue stress, and we can't have that happening, now can we?"

Jarek walked away from Sylar, pausing before he left the room.

"I'm sure we'll be speaking again soon, Mr. Gray. For now, though, get some rest. You'll be needing it."

* * *

_A small boy ran around outside, enjoying the sun on his bare skin. The playground was filled with other kids, as most inner city playgrounds were, but he didn't care. After all the snow and the long winter, the boy was glad to get outside. A strong breeze kicked up, blowing the boy's dark hair out of it's careful style. A mother called out to him, but he didn't respond. He was a kid... having too much fun._

_The same boy now found himself sitting in a diner, playing with a toy car. He could see his dad having a hushed conversation with some man. His dark eyes were curious; what exactly was going on? He wanted to know... had to know. Moments later, his dad called him over, and the three men walked out of the diner. His dad got in a car and drove away, leaving the boy with the other man. He yelled as his dad left him behind. Why was he doing this? Why was he abandoning him?_

_A few years later, the boy's new father left the house, saying he was going down the road to buy a pack of cigarettes. The boy waited patiently for his return. First an hour passed, then a day, a week, a month... a year. As he gazed out the window one day, he realized the cold, hard truth- his dad had left him, and not for the first time._

_Several years later, the boy was a gawky teenager. He wasn't one of the popular kids at school. In fact, most people didn't know who he was. Gabriel Gray? Wasn't that the boy who excelled at math and science? The one who claimed it just came naturally to him? Yeah... he was the one all the jocks pressured into doing their homework so they wouldn't flunk off the football team. Sighing, he pushed his thick glasses up the bridge of his nose as he walked out of the school, pulling his worn coat tighter to his body to shield him from the cold of winter. When he got home, he told his mother how he hated being used... how he felt rather worthless. His mother reassured him that he was special... he really was special. Surely she had to be joking. There was nothing special about Gabriel Gray. He was just that nerd._

_So he began working as a timepiece restorer. Oh, if only his dad could see him now. He'd be so proud. Gabriel Gray, picking up the family business. Gabriel Gray, easily and expertly repairing watches. Gabriel Gray, the nobody. That is, until Chandra Suresh showed him what he was capable of. Then he became special. Then, he knew he wasn't a nobody. He was Sylar... and he was all powerful._

_He killed for power, but it was Ok. These people didn't know how to use their powers. He might as well take them and make good use of them. And then he was told about the immortal cheerleader. Immortality sounded like a good idea. In fact, he had to have that power. So, he hunted her. He hunted her relentlessly. And eventually, he got her power. In the process, he probably scarred her for life, but he didn't care. All that mattered was the power._

_All the powers in the world couldn't help him when Matt Parkman telepathically convinced him that he was the late Nathan Petrelli, though. For months, he went around, thinking he was a US senator. And then, he finally found himself again, just in time for the cheerleader's eighteenth birthday._

_One hundred years later, Sylar stood on a rocky ledge, overlooking a small cabin in the mountains of Montana. A young girl walked outside, tending to her small garden as her blonde hair glinted in the sunlight. There she was, looking just like she had when they'd first met... trapped in the body of a sixteen-year-old. Somewhere in his distant memories, he remembered chasing her... terrorizing her. A random thought flitted across his mind. Had he stolen her childhood like his had been stolen?_

_As she walked inside, he saw her sigh, as if she had a heavy weight upon her shoulders._

_Yes. Yes he had. And nothing he knew how to do could fix that.

* * *

_

Claire slowly roused, her body feeling heavy and stiff. She genuinely wanted to get up and stretch, but she couldn't, which she found strange. Why couldn't she move? Where was she? Why had she fallen unconscious anyway?

And then the memories hit her. She remembered Red Square... Nikolas taking the shot... Sylar teleporting them... Sylar injecting her with the virus...

"_Face it, Claire. You can't die."_

The virus failed! The damn virus failed! Her body had somehow rejected it! And if she survived it, then that meant Sylar probably survived as well!

Immediately, she began formulating a new plan. Sylar had to be stopped somehow. She attempted to sit up, pushing herself up slowly. It was only then that she got a good look at her surroundings. She was in a concrete bunker, lying on what appeared to be somewhat of a military cot. Something on the back of her neck stung some. Reaching up, she felt thick stitches, and could only assume what had happened. Sliding her hand up, she felt a bald patch in her hair, and soon discovered something implanted in it. Claire closed her hand around it, still feeling incredibly dazed, and prepared to pull it out when a door banged open.

"I wouldn't do that if I were you, Miss Bennet," a male voice advised. Claire jumped and whirled around to see a man with brown hair and hazel eyes.

"What's in my head?" she asked. The man laughed.

"They were right- you are the feisty one."

Claire gave him the most leveling stare she could manage, which, considering how young she looked and how drugged she felt, probably wasn't very threatening.

"Where am I?"

"I'm afraid I'm not at liberty to say. Just know that while you're staying here, you'll be receiving the finest medical care."

Claire couldn't help but to snort and shake her head. She immediately regretted the action, though, as the room began to spin and she felt dizzy. Blinking a few times, she tried to steady herself. Finest medical care? This place looked like a prison.

"What's in my head?"

"That would be a shunt, delivering a drug that inhibits your cellular regeneration." The man crouched down, bringing himself to Claire's level. "Miss Bennet, if I may ask, what were you doing in Texas with Mr. Gray?"

Mr. Gray? Who was-?

And then it clicked. He was referring to Sylar.

"I don't think that's any of your business," she answered slowly, but coolly. The man shook his head.

"Ahhh, but you see, Miss Bennet, it is my business. Because you two managed to put two superpowers on red alert. That, and you two are obviously evolved and know each other. Given those two important facts, I think it's rather obvious that special... _liberties_ are granted to those trying to keep others safe."

Not wanting to give him anything he could use, Claire silently turned away from the man.

"I don't even know who he is," she lied. "He just appeared... attacked me. It was all self-defense."

Footsteps walked away from her, and Claire heard them pause briefly.

"You can lie all you want, Miss Bennet, but the fact of the matter is we know everything about you. We know your names, your jobs... we know where you live. And eventually, we're going to know how your abilities work." A smirk crossed his face. "It's all just a matter of time."

A door opened and shut, the sound sending shivers down Claire's spine. She pulled her knees up to her chest, wrapping her arms around them. Letting out a long sigh, she rested her chin on top her knees as she made a resolute decision.

She was going to get out of here. They were not going to get anything from her.


	4. Escape

_**A/N: So, I finally got my computer back, and it's working at almost 100%. I'm hoping to get caught back up with updating this story again within the week, and hopefully no more computer crashes will plague the future of this story. Once again, thank you to everyone who's reviewed/favorited/added this story to their alert list. It means so much to me that you guys like this story enough to do that. Reviews are always much appreciated, as is constructive criticism. **_

**Disclaimer: I do not own Heroes, nor the characters mentioned in this story. No personal profit is derived from this story, nor is any copyright infringement intended.  
**

Some days, Sylar thanked whatever greater power was out there (if there even was one) for putting Claire Bennet in his life. Without her, he'd never be able to have the power of cellular regeneration. And without that power, he'd never be able to metabolize all the drugs they were currently pumping into his system.

It was on those days that he was also thankful for his ability to be a good actor... at least when he wanted to be one. That skill helped him keep the doctors in the dark. So long as they were convinced that he was drugged out of his mind, the wouldn't up the dose of the inhibiting formula. And, if they didn't up the inhibiting formula at all, then he was pretty certain that eventually he'd be able to use his powers again... to escape out of this place.

It was about the third day he'd been in the cell when he realized that his thoughts were slowly getting clearer. By day four, he was beginning to be able to move around with relative ease (save for the lingering pain where the shunt was). By day five, he wasn't feeling completely groggy and stoned. And by day six, he felt like his normal, old self. This of course led him to begin doing one thing- planning on how to get out of this place. He still didn't know if he had his powers back, and even then, he couldn't test his most important one for fear that the cameras would see what he was doing. So, once more, he resigned himself to pretending he was still heavily drugged while he figured out what would be the most opportune moment to escape.

On the seventh day in his cell, Sylar discovered he could use his enhanced hearing again. Immediately he tapped into it, listening all day. By the next morning, he knew several things. He knew that wherever he was had significantly fewer people in it during the night than compared to the day. Judging by the way the shoes and footsteps sounded, the staff was split up pretty evenly between medical people, soldiers and desk jockeys. He could hear cars overhead, or something similar to them, so he knew he was underground. Where he was underground was a different story, though. He had no clue where in the country he was. And that was dangerous for many different reasons.

If he was in a city, it'd be easier to disappear into the crowd, but there'd be more people searching for him. He'd have to avoid any surveillance devices and pray he could find somewhere to hide out until things blew over. On the contrary, if he was in the middle of nowhere, he'd have fewer places to hide. He'd have more space to try and escape, but he'd also have to go farther to get somewhere safe.

Either way, he was going to have a hard time.

This of course led to his next little detail- the cheerleader. Should he decide to be a respectable citizen and rescue her, he'd have to help her as well. However, he could always just leave her. Yeah. That's what'd he'd do. After all, it was her damn pursuit of him that got them in this situation in the first place. Had she just left him alone, they'd be fine. What was that law that Newton had? For ever action there is an equal and opposite reaction? Consider this her reaction.

* * *

It was around midnight when the nurse left Sylar's cell after checking his vitals. He heard her shoes squeak on the floor and the door click shut as she left. Sitting up, Sylar pulled the IV from his arm, the wound bleeding briefly, and then closing up. He reached behind him and grabbed the shunt firmly. Giving it a good tug, he tore the thing out of his head. There was a moment of intense, sharp pain, and he almost swore from it. Reaching up, though, he felt the wound closing up rapidly. Almost instantly, his head felt clearer than it had in a long time. He twitched his fingers some, and his cot scooted across the floor about and inch. A sinister smile crossed his face.

Sylar was back in business.

Pointing at the door, Sylar flicked his finger and it came flying off the hinges. He calmly stepped through as several guards confronted him, their weapons drawn, and several nurses ran away. A smirk crossed his face. Did they really think they were any match for him? He crossed his arms and leaned back some, giving them his most menacing look as they trembled.

"Boo!" he yelled, getting up in their faces. They all jumped, and half of them ran away. The other half were thrown into the wall and knocked out. Sylar paused briefly and touched one of the soldier's faces, using his memories to help guide him out of this hellhole. For a moment, he saw Claire's face flash by, but he ignored it. Save the cheerleader? Screw that. He was fending for himself, and no one else.

Turning on his heel, Sylar took off running, telekinetically throwing anyone and anything out of his way. He was surprised- this was way too easy. Where were all the highly trained agents? Where was the challenge? Where was the _fun_?

"Freeze!"

Oh. There it was. Right on cue, too.

Bennet was in the front, a pistol drawn and held out in front of him. Sylar cocked an eyebrow, amused. Did he really think that was going to stop him?

Holding out his hand, Sylar gave a good telekinetic shove. An unseen force drove through all the men, knocking them into the wall. Smirking some, Sylar easily stepped over their unconscious bodies, pausing at Bennet. He reached down and touched Bennet's temple. Sometimes, clairsentience was such a useful power. He took off running, rounding a corner and bursting through a set of doors. Bennet's memories told him he was near the exit; he just had a few more hallways to go down, a few more doors to throw open...

He burst into the cool night air, running up a slope. Glancing around, Sylar noticed a few key features in the landscape... the new, more modern capitol building, and near it, the White House. Obviously he was in Washington DC. Now, he had to get out of the city.

Jumping into the air, Sylar flew away as fast as he could, heading southwest. He was going to the mountains where he had a small cabin under an assumed identity. It was a difficult area to get out to. Most of the roads were deteriorating, and no one ever took the time to repair them. After all, hardly anyone came out here. Everyone lived in the cities nowadays, where everything was easy. The agents probably hadn't gotten out to it, and even if they did know about it, they probably didn't know exactly where it was.

He landed outside the small cabin that was nestled within the Blue Ridge Mountains, just outside of Harrisonburg, Virginia. In the distance, he could see the light of the city. He wasn't surprised it was busy down there. After all, it was a Saturday (from what he could tell) and there was a college down there. Hopefully the activity down there would help hide him.

A key was hidden behind a piece of siding near the door. Sylar let himself in and sighed. He could probably hide out here for a couple of days, but then he'd been to leave... keep moving so the Company couldn't follow him. He might have to change his looks completely, become a whole new person. It wouldn't be the first time he'd done something like that, but it also wasn't something he liked to do on a regular basis.

Walking into the small bedroom, Sylar went to the dresser and pulled out a new set of clothes and laid them out on the bed. He then grabbed a towel and headed towards the bathroom with the intent of getting a shower. With a towel wrapped around his waist, he stood at the sink, gazing into the mirror as he dragged a razor down his face. He could do the whole six-o'clock-shadow thing, but the full grown beard was out of the question. As he finished, Sylar couldn't help but to be amazed as how his time in that compound changed him. They'd given him a haircut, probably to put the shunt in. His hair was now trimmed down to a short buzz, giving him the look of a prisoner or mental patient. The drugs they gave him made him feel nauseous, so he hadn't eaten much while he was there. His cheeks were sunken in some, and the space around his eyes had hollowed out, giving him a gaunt, almost skeletal look. It was a look he'd seen on himself before, but it wasn't one he was particularly fond of.

Sylar walked into the bedroom and started pulling on the clothes he'd laid out on the bed earlier. The jeans were a bit loose- had he really lost that much weight since he'd last been here? A chill was in the air, and a brief shiver passed through Sylar's body. He grabbed a white undershirt and pulled it on before tugging a black sweater over his head. Sitting down, he pulled on a pair of socks and then laced up his typical black Chucks. A sigh escaped him as he looked around.

He was free. But his world had been turned upside down. Once again, he was a hunted man, which wasn't out of the ordinary for him. However, he'd learned that the Company still existed. That in itself made everything different. Like that Bennet man had said, they knew all his identities. They knew all of the places he called "home." And now, they were probably out to get him with even more of a vengeance. If he couldn't die, Sylar would consider himself a dead man.

With all of that realized, Sylar now knew that he had a monumental task ahead of him. He had to keep his head down... not draw attention to himself. From here on out, he was a nobody. How had Noah Bennet put it to his daughter once before? He had to be entirely un-extraordinary? That sounded about right. He couldn't help but to chuckle at that thought. Hadn't Noah known that his daughter could never be ordinary? She couldn't even die for Christ's sake! And he wanted her to be ordinary? What a foolish little man he was.

Sylar shook his head, bringing himself from his thoughts. It was late, and he probably should consider getting some sleep so he'd be on top of his game. He felt restless, though. He was on edge, just waiting for something to happen. It was probably left over adrenaline from the stunt he'd just pulled. Whatever it was, Sylar found it particularly annoying.

Pushing himself to his feet, Sylar walked into the kitchen, wondering if he even had anything in there that was remotely edible. As he rummaged through the cabinets, he came upon a familiar object. It was his backpack from when he was being good and served with the US military. Opening it up, he found a few non-perishable freeze-dry meals. They'd do for now, but he made a mental note to go and buy some real food at some point. As he waited for the meal to heat up, Sylar sat at his kitchen table, looking through the pack. He remembered his good days... the days when he actually felt like he was accomplishing something.

Those were the days where, strangely enough, helping people made him perfectly content. Nowadays, he'd grumble about helping someone. They were just extra baggage. What was the point? So, why was it that then he was fine with it? What exactly had made him Ok with it?

It could've been the lack of people looking for him. Generally speaking, murderers do have a lot of enemies, and they usually weren't well looked upon. People didn't seem to be upset with him as often. And even more, he seemed to understand people better back then. It was as if the hunger disappeared and was replaced with a feeling of satisfaction.

Sighing, Sylar stood up and walked out of the cabin, his freeze-dried meal forgotten. He knew what he had to do, as much as it pained him to do so.

Sylar had to save the cheerleader.

"Go figure."


	5. Rescue

**_A/N: Thanks to everyone who's reviewed/favorited/alerted this story. I'm just blown away by the response it's getting. Thank you guys SO much! It means so much to me that you like this story that much!_**

**Disclaimer: I do not own Heroes or the characters in this story. This is written for entertainment purposes only. No profit is derived from this work of fiction, nor is any copyright infringement intended.  
**

The sky was dark, and in the city, a slight drizzle was beginning to fall. In the higher elevations, it had begun to snow, a clear indicator that winter was indeed here. Sylar, now dressed in new dark clothing, left a secluded cabin in a small forest near a mountain valley. He moved quietly through the woods, as if he'd had training of sorts. Pausing in an isolated area, he looked around. Then, he jumped in the air and flew away.

As he flew towards the nation's capitol, he passed over the small city that held a college campus. It was lit up like the Fourth of July, probably with a football game or several different parties, or quite possibly a combination of both. As he flew, he couldn't help but to wonder just how many of the students down there had abilities. Did they know what the government was doing to people like them? Or were they naïve, just like he'd been a long time ago?

Shaking his head, Sylar gave himself an extra push and broke the sound barrier. The quicker he could get to DC, the quicker he could rescue the cheerleader. And the quicker he rescued the cheerleader, the quicker he was done with this insane mission.

Never having been one for subtlety, Sylar landed right in front of where he vaguely remembered running from just hours before. After searching through Bennet's memories some, he figured out where the entrance was. Just as he suspected, there were a bunch of guards outside. How nice of them to give him a welcoming party. Too bad they were all knocked unconscious with a flick of his fingers.

With confidence oozing from every pore, Sylar nonchalantly strolled down the hallways in the complex, knocking out and stealing memories from whomever crossed his path. With his powers back to normal, this really was too easy. He finally found the room she was in after a few minutes of searching.

The room was blindingly white, and Sylar briefly held a hand up to shield his eyes as they adjusted. Then he realized why it was so bright- surgical lamps... the big ones typically seen in an operating room. They were shining down on to Claire's body.

She was lying unconscious on a table, various incisions marring her otherwise youthful appearance. An IV ran into the crook of her elbow while a shunt similar to his own fed into her head. She was covered with a sheet, but even Sylar could see the instruments hidden beneath it, probably some sadistic attempt to figure out how her ability worked. Carefully, Sylar went through and pulled out any objects he could find that would inhibit her healing ability. Then, with a decisive flick of his index finger, Sylar pulled the IV from her elbow and the shunt from her head. For a brief moment, Claire stirred. Her eyes flicked open and settled on Sylar. With a low moan, her head flopped back on the table with an audible "clang," blood from the wound in her head slowly gathering in a small puddle.

For a moment, Sylar didn't know what to do. He obviously hadn't thought this whole rescue mission through. Then, a silent rage ran through his veins. Claire was special, unlike any of the freaks who'd been performing these experiments. With a decisive turn, Sylar flung a handful of electricity at all the computers, monitors and cameras in the room. Then, after wrapping the sheet more securely around her small body, Sylar picked Claire up and ran from the room. He cradled her close to his chest, trying to avoid any unnecessary jostling. His boots thunked heavily on the floor, occasionally squeaking on the linoleum as he made sliding turns, trying to get out of the compound as fast as possible. Finally, he burst into the cold night air. Snow was now falling here, which meant it surely had to be falling at his little hideout. Not caring if anyone was watching, he leapt into the air and flew away as fast as he could. Snow and frost accumulated in his hair and stung at his eyes and face as he flew, but he didn't care. He had to get the cheerleader somewhere safe.

Sure enough, snow was falling thickly when he arrived at his cabin. Landing softly in the powdery substance, Sylar nearly kicked the door open in his haste to get inside. He gently deposited Claire on the bed in the only bedroom in the cabin and then grabbed an extra quilt from the closet. It smelled like wood and mothballs, but that didn't matter. Setting the item to the side, he went into the bathroom and fished out his first aid kit. Eventually, Claire's cellular regeneration would kick in, but for now, he had to do all he could to try and help the wounds heal. Taking her arm, he gently wrapped gauze around one of the large gashes that traversed the length of it. Sylar continued this process until he had all of the slightly less serious wounds bandaged. Then, he look a look at her head.

There was still a rather large hole where the shunt had been earlier. Sighing, Sylar tried to figure out a way to bandage that. Finally, he settled for taping a piece of gauze over the area. He wasn't sure if his bandages were doing any good; an ominous red was already seeping through some of the ones on her arm. Shaking his head, Sylar put away the first aid kit and then turned his attention the quilt left lying on the bed. He draped the heavy item over Claire's body and then walked into the adjacent living room, where a small wood stove stood. He hadn't lit it earlier because he wasn't planning on staying there very long. Now he put dry timber in it and lit it with a ball of flame from his hand.

With the fire lit and Claire safe, Sylar felt he could now take a chance to breath. Dragging a chair out from the kitchen table, Sylar sat down heavily, rubbing his eyes some. He leaned back, propping his feet up on the table while telekinetically summoning a random book from the living room. Sylar opened it without looking at the title or author and soon became engrossed in the plot while keeping an ear out for any suspicious sounds. Within fifteen minutes, his head was beginning to nod, and eventually, he drifted off into a deep sleep...

* * *

Claire shifted under a heavy blanket some, her body slowly waking up. She sat up some and stretched. Looking around, she realized that she was most certainly not where she remembered being last. Then, everything came flashing back.

_Drugs, needles, a cold room..._

_Doctors hovering over her..._

_The cold feeling of a scalpel cutting into her flesh..._

_The pain in her wounds when they wouldn't heal..._

_Falling unconscious from the agony..._

_Sylar standing over her, looking like a dark, evil angel..._

With a sharp gasp, Claire sat up, clutching the blankets over her to her body. Through the doorway, she could see Sylar's long figure sitting in a chair with his feet propped up on the table. He was dressed in dark clothes, and she could vaguely see that they appeared to be either extremely similar to or were standard issue combat clothing. His head was tilted back, his mouth slightly open, and a book was lying open on his chest. In his current sleeping state, he almost looked... innocent.

Glancing around the rest of the small building she was in, Claire attempted to gather her surroundings. She looked out one of the small windows in the room and saw snow flying around outside. Great. She was snowed in, out in the middle of nowhere, and quite possibly trapped with a serial killer. Just her luck.

"Good to see you're awake."

Claire jumped at the sudden voice, and glanced up just in time to see Sylar walking into the room. He paused, leaning against the doorway.

"I'm suspecting that you'll want to get a shower. The bathroom's over there, fully stocked." He jerked his head over towards a door to the right. "I don't have much here, and what I do have probably won't fit you. Until we can figure out what we're doing, though, we're going to have to make do."

Claire nodded numbly as Sylar turned and walked out of the room. He paused halfway and then turned around.

"By the way, let me know if your wounds have healed any. If not, I can help you bandage them once you're decent."

Claire stood and walked into the small bathroom. Sure enough, it was stocked with various toiletries, and she even found a fresh towel sitting out for her. She shut the door and then let the sheet that was covering her body drop to the floor. What she saw made her want to cry.

Bloody gauzes covered most of the length of her arms, and there were even a few on her legs. There were still healing wounds on her torso and stomach that hadn't been bandaged. She presumed that this was Sylar's way of trying to keep her modesty, but even she knew that it was completely gone. Turning around, she picked up a small mirror from the counter and held it up to see the back of her head. Stitches ran the length of her neck above her spine. Behind her right ear, she could see where they'd shaved her hair. A large gauze with a tint of red covered where the shunt had been put in.

Biting her lip so hard it bled, Claire set to removing the bandages. It seemed her cellular regeneration wasn't quite back yet, as some of the cuts on her arms were still open. She reached into the shower and turned it on as hot as it could go. The water stung her wounds and burned her skin when she stepped in, but she really didn't care. As she watched the blood and grime go swirling down the drain, she couldn't help but to think about all she'd gone through... what had just happened.

When she stepped out of the shower 30 minutes later, Claire felt physically clean. Too bad the scalding water couldn't wash away the painful memories, or lack thereof. She dried off carefully and walked into the bedroom once more. Sylar had laid out some clothes for her. They were very basic and still had the tags on. How had he managed to get them without getting caught?

Shaking her head, Claire decided it was best not to think about that stuff and pulled the clothes on. All things considered, she had to give the serial killer props. For the most part, he'd managed to get the right size. The dark cargo pants were a bit loose and long, but she figured she could handle that, and everything else fit. Claire didn't know whether to be thankful or creeped out.

A soft knock came from the other side of the door, and Claire jumped.

"Are you decent?" Sylar asked through the door. Claire nodded before she realized that he probably wasn't using x-ray vision. Silently, she thought back to their encounter in her apartment. She couldn't help but to wonder if he really did have that power...

"Yeah. Yeah... I'm decent."

The door slowly slid open, and Sylar entered, a small white box in his hands. Claire glanced at it nervously as he sat down by her.

"You found the clothes. Good." There was an awkward moment of silence. Claire could feel his eyes on her, roaming her body. "If you'd like, I can take a look at those cuts for you."

Claire nodded, still trying to adjust to everything that had gone on recently. Sylar chose to ignore her silence and set to tending the cheerleader's wounds. He opened his first aid kit and pulled out some antiseptic. Claire didn't even wince as he dabbed at her wounds. His touch was oddly gentle, something she didn't expect from a person with a past like his. Despite that, Claire couldn't help but to notice how rough Sylar's hands were. His calloused fingers deftly wrapped gauze around her arms, fastening the ends with bandage tape.

"Anymore you think need to be looked at?" he asked. Claire lifted her black wife-beater, revealing new wounds, each in a different stage of healing. If Sylar thought anything of them, he didn't let it show. Instead, he set to bandaging the worst, his face completely blank.

"Let me look at your head."

Claire obliged, turning her back to him as she lowered her shirt. Sylar brushed some of her hair back, carefully taping a square of gauze over the hole behind her ear. Then, he put all of his supplies away and stood up, walking from the room.

"As the drugs are filtered out of your system, your wounds should heal," he told her from the kitchen. Claire stood and followed him. He was currently facing the stove, busying himself with cooking something. Claire took a moment and scanned his body for any wounds. Had the Company abused him like they had her?

It was only then that she saw it. Just below his hairline, on the back of his neck above the spine... those stitches. They were dark and monsteresque, the skin around them red and angry.

"I have stitches like that. On the back of my neck. They did the same thing to me."

"I know," came the curt reply. "They're ID chips. Those bastards must have put them in when we first arrived at that place."

Turning to one of the cabinets in the small room, Sylar pulled down two plates. He proceeded to take one of them and load it up with what looked like scrambled eggs. He handed the plate to Claire, who just looked at it.

"They're not poisoned," he commented. "Even if they were, it wouldn't do any harm to you."

Claire sat down at the table, picking up her fork and pushing the eggs around her plate. Sylar sat down across from her. After a few minutes, he cocked an eyebrow at her .Claire set her fork down and looked at the serial killer. He gave her an expression, as if beckoning her to speak. There were a few moments of uncomfortable silence. Finally, Sylar pushed his plate away, put his elbows on the table and rested his chin on his hands. He fixed his gaze on Claire, seriousness etched across his face.

"No, Claire, I cannot take the chip out," he said. "At least, not yet."

Claire clutched her head, shooting Sylar a dirty look.

"Stay out of my head, you psychopath!"

Sylar's eyes darkened as his brows furrowed.

"You know, all things considered, you should be thanking me. After all, it was me who rescued you from the Company."

Claire shot him another look.

"Correct me if I'm wrong, but aren't you the same person who terrorized me before cutting my skull open and poking around my brain?"

Sylar said nothing, knowing there was no arguing with her right now. Claire pushed her chair away from the table and stood, walking into the bedroom. She grabbed the black thermal shirt from the bed and pulled it over her head as she marched towards the front door. Sylar stood, crossing his arms as he followed her.

"I wouldn't go out there if I were you," he said in a singsong voice. Claire wrenched the door open, and Sylar telekinetically slammed it shut from the other side of the room.

"What are you doing?" Claire demanded. "Holding me hostage?"

"Are you really so stupid as to even attempt to go out there?" Sylar asked, disbelief in his voice. "First off, there's a snowstorm out there. You'll freeze before you even manage to get down to that little city there. Second, you have a chip in your body, and everything in this world reads it. You want to get into a building there, you'll have to go through a scanner. And as soon as that scanner reads your chip, you'll get snatched up and dragged back to the Company. Do you really want to go back there? Or did I just risk my life and freedom just to get slapped in the face?"

Claire stepped back, admitting defeat. This was just wonderful. Abso-fucking-lutely wonderful. First, her virus didn't work. Then, she was kidnapped by the Company. And now she was stuck in the mountains in a snowstorm with the serial killer she'd been trying to kill not even a month ago.

"How the hell do I end up in these situations?" she asked herself. She walked back into the living room and flopped back on the couch. Sylar walked over to the stove and opened it. After feeding a few logs into it and shutting the door, he leaned against the wall and smirked. Claire shot him a look.

"What's got you so amused?" she spat.

"The irony of it all," Sylar answered. "I mean, think about: you spent your high school career running from me... trying to get rid of me. You spent most of your life ignoring me. And then, when you finally decide to try and kill me, you end up having to rely on me to help you." His smirk grew wider, the lamplight casting eerie shadows across his face. "Face it, Cheerleader. You need me. Until that chip comes out of your neck, you can't go anywhere. And me? I'm your ticket to freedom."

He walked over to the old reclining chair that was across the room and took a seat in it. Propping his feet up, Sylar linked his hands behind his head and sighed, a look of content coming over his face as he shut his eyes.

"Better get comfortable. You're gonna be here a while."


	6. Extraction

**_A/N: Please note that I'm being relatively liberal when it comes to Sylar's powers. The way I see it, he's probably accumulated a lot more, especially seeing as he's over 300 years old. I'll try my best to not confuse you guys with them. Once again, thanks to those who've reviewed/favorited/alerted this story. It really makes my day!_**

**Disclaimer: Unfortunately, I still don't own Heroes. It belongs to NBC. No personal profit is derived from this story, nor is any copyright infringement intended.  
**

Jarek Bennet was not a happy man. And neither was his director, who was currently sitting across from him in a private conference room.

In less than twenty-four hours, the Company had lost its two most important people. One had escaped, the other rescued. And the question everyone was asking was "how?" How had he become immune to the drugs? How had they not noticed? How had this happened?

Bennet had spent a day in the hospital wing after being slammed into a wall and then having his memories stolen. He had a few bruises and a lingering headache, but the doctors gave him a clean bill of health after a twenty-four hour observation period. They recommended he took it easy, but knew it would fall on deaf ears. He was an agent for the Company. Things like this were normal.

"I'll have you know, I'm not happy you let those two go," the director said. "We finally got them, after years of searching, and then you just let them walk out the door."

Though he wanted to argue, Bennet knew it was better to just shut up and "take it like a man," as the old saying went. Arguing with the director of the Company was a bad idea, and anyone knew that. Not only was it grounds for being fired, but it also increased your chances of dying in some sort of freak accident ten-fold. So, Bennet clamped his mouth shut. Better to remain silent than to be dead.

"We want them back, Bennet. And you're going to get them. I don't care what you have to do. Get me those two people!"

With that said, the director stood and walked out of the room, leaving a stunned Bennet. No pay dock? No formal reprimand? What was the world coming to?

Standing, Bennet walked down to the squad room, where he found a team waiting.

"All right, people," he started, "We are going to do everything we have to in order to get Gabriel Gray and Claire Bennet back. I was constant surveillance on known hideouts, monitoring of all chip scanners... the works. Your life is now solely dedicated to finding them, and I am in charge of it. You will not eat, you will not sleep... hell, you will not go take a piss without my permission. You, people, belong to me. And we are going to fix this problem." He rolled up his sleeves as he surveyed the people before him. "Let's get to it."

* * *

When Claire woke up, she was hoping that this entire situation was just a dream. Yeah, that was it. She was dreaming. When she opened her eyes, she'd be back in her apartment in Oregon.

No such luck.

Claire found herself lying on a slightly threadbare couch, a heavy quilt tossed over her. When had she fallen asleep? She didn't remember getting tired. In fact, if memory served her right, she had barely been awake for any length of time the day before.

Sylar was nowhere to be seen, and as far as she could tell, the house was completely empty. Standing, she walked through the rooms just to make sure before coming back to the living room. It was a little chilly. She remembered watching Sylar put some wood in the fireplace yesterday. Surely it couldn't be that hard.

When she opened the small stove, all she found were glowing embers. Instantly, Claire let loose several choice words, most of which would make even the toughest Marine faint. In all her years, she'd never had to deal with a wood-burning stove. They'd been essentially eliminated with the rise of the new eco-friendly air conditioning and heating units back in 2050. Since then, she'd only had to push a button on a remote to control the temperature of a room. It figured Sylar would own a cabin with an obsolete stove like this. He did seem to have a fondness of ancient things.

She was sure she'd seen Noah light one of these when she was really little. So how come she couldn't remember? Usually, Claire had the memory of an elephant. It was ironic, too. Here she was, a girl who'd earned at least five doctorates in some of the most complicated sciences out there, and she couldn't even remember the proper way to light a stove. Go figure. Walking back over to the couch, Claire swore once more as she wrapped the quilt around her shoulders.

"Such language. Is it really necessary?" an all to familiar voice started. Claire jumped and spun around to see Bennet standing in the doorway. Immediately, she went to run out the other door, but found herself cornered by several soldiers. Bennet smiled some as Claire backed up some, her eyes scanning the room for any opening. Dammit, where was Sylar when she really needed him?

"You can come peacefully, or we can do this the hard way."

Claire felt her feet hit the hard tile where the stove was. Her hand felt cold wrought iron and she closed her fingers around it. Instinctively, she cocked her arm back and let loose, the fire poker flying through the air and striking one of the soldiers. Bennet looked at the downed man and shook his head, tsking some.

"Hard way it is."

* * *

Claire jerked as she awoke with a gasp. Her green eyes quickly darted around the small living room and finally landed on Sylar. He was still sitting in the same recliner as before, wearing the same dark clothes. Glancing at her over the top of his book, Sylar lowered it and cocked an eyebrow. Claire shook her head, running a hand over her face.

"Nothing. Just a dream."

Sylar nodded, taking the answer with a gain of salt as a slight tingle swept through his body. She was lying, no doubt about that. He just had to figure out what she was lying about.

"Snow storm's starting to slow down," he said, closing his book. Claire followed his gaze out the window and discovered that indeed, the snow wasn't whipping around like it had been when she fell asleep. Through the darkness, she could also see that it was looking pretty deep.

"Don't know how long we're going to be stuck here," Sylar continued, sounding completely calm. "It's almost over three feet out there. Heaviest storm to hit the East Coast in almost 100 years."

Claire couldn't help but to smirk at that statement. She'd been living in Pennsylvania when it hit. Her electricity had been knocked out, and she ended up going and staying with friends who had power across the town. The storm had lasted for almost a day and a half, a huge system according to the meteorologists. When she was younger, they called these giant storms Nor'easters. Nowadays, they were just called blizzards. Nothing special.

Sometimes, she really hated how the US had changed.

"Despite the fact that this is shitty weather, it does do us some good. Judging by where we are, and where DC is, I can pretty much guarantee you that the capitol's been completely paralyzed by this storm."

Though the prospect of spending even more time with a serial killer really didn't sound very appealing to Claire, she had to admit that it was a hell of a lot better than running from the government. Drawing her knees to her chest, Claire rested her chin on her legs. She could feel the bandages tugging at her skin, and for a moment, she considered taking a look at them.

"So, what do we do in the meantime?"

Sylar shrugged.

"I dunno. Sit around. Wait. Eat. Sleep. You know... do the kinds of things normal people do." Claire couldn't help but to chuckle at that statement. Sylar knew better than to suggest she attempt to act normal. If anyone could make a normal situation abnormal, it was Claire.

"And then what?"

"And then... I don't know. I hadn't really thought this whole thing through. It was kinda... on impulse, you know?"

Claire couldn't help but to shake her head. Go figure he hadn't thought this out. Sylar ignored her and picked up his book again, flipping to the page he'd been at earlier. Claire sighed. She hadn't been this bored in... well, forever.

"So... what do you have to do? TV? Video games? Or do you just have books?"

Sylar looked up, a sudden excited gleam in his eyes.

"I have just the thing."

* * *

"C-3."

Claire pouted, crossing her arms.

"This is so not fair!" she howled. "You're using telepathy, aren't you? No, you're using x-ray vision. You've got to be!"

"Which ship did I sink this time?" he asked. When Claire didn't answer, he fixed her with a glare. "Say it, Cheerleader."

Claire sighed, her posture slumping some.

"You sunk my battleship."

Sylar resisted the urge to crow in victory. Instead, he let a smug smile cross his face as he put another tick mark on a piece of paper.

"Psychopathic Serial Killer: 7. Immortal Cheerleader: 0." He looked up at her, his dark eyes amused. "You're really bad at this game."

"You cheat."

Sylar clutched his chest, acting offended.

"I'm stung. And I don't cheat. Intuitive Aptitude, remember? I've seen your brain. I know how it operates."

Claire made a face, wrinkling her nose. Sylar had just inadvertently, or purposefully, brought up part of her past that she'd much rather forget. Shaking the memories away, Claire shut her Battleship board and held it out.

"I admit defeat."

Sylar took the board and began to put the game away. Claire stood up from her position on the floor, attempting to stretch some. Her abdomen protested, though. It seemed that it was still sore from whatever had happened at the Company. Pushing up her shirtsleeve, she undid the tape on the gauze and proceeded to unwrap it. A smile spread across her face as she revealed smooth, unmarred skin. As Sylar walked back into the room, he looked at her arm and nodded.

"That's a good sign. The sooner you're healed, the sooner we can move somewhere else. Can't stay anywhere for too long right now." Claire looked up at him.

"Who said I was going with you?" she asked. Sylar sighed. He truly hated explaining things all over again.

"We need to stick together," he said, sitting down in the recliner in the living room. "If we get separated, it'll make it all the easier to find us. That, and you still have that chip in your neck. I can shield mine; it's no problem for me. But you? You can't. Your chip would be scanned, and then they'd swoop down and gather you up again."

"So take the chip out."

"See, that's the problem- I don't know how deep this chip is, how long it is... I don't know anything about it. And if I were to make one wrong move while trying to get it out of your neck, you'd be... you know... shut down." He gave her a serious look. "Trust me, if I knew everything about it, I'd not only have this thing out of my neck, but yours too."

Claire crossed her arms and flopped back into her chair, letting out a disgruntled sound. She knew she was acting like a petulant child, but she really didn't want to be hanging out with a serial killer. Sylar sighed. Once again, the cheerleader was being stubborn. She wasn't going to let him be until he at least tried to get that thing out of her.

"Fine. Let me try to get it out of myself first. If I don't kill myself, then I'll take yours out too."

He walked into the bathroom and shut the door. He banged his head against the wall for good measure, and then regretted the action. This was stupid... absolutely stupid! Why should he do this? Why should he risk his life to help her? He should've just left her in that place. She'd been nothing but rude since he'd rescued her. She didn't deserve his help.

Sylar felt a familiar, kinder side of him bubble up as he contemplated his options. He felt Gabriel begin to argue his side... fight logic with logic. Claire needed it. She couldn't do this on her own; she needed someone to look out for her. And there was no one else in this world that would be willing to, or even could help her. He was her only hope.

Her only hope...

Sylar sighed, admitting defeat. Sometimes having a split personality sucked.

In the end, Sylar found himself standing in front of the mirror, readying himself for what he was about to do. Reaching up, he fingered the dark stitches some before telekinetically cutting them and pulling them out. He then carefully slit the skin on the back of his neck, gritting his teeth as he felt something warm slide down it. This was creepy, even by his standards. Picking up the small mirror that was sitting on the counter, he used it to see his progress. And there it was. The chip.

It was implanted just above the spine, lying directly on the bone, connected to some of the muscle there. Sylar carefully reached up and pulled it out, wincing some as the sharp edges pulled out of the muscle. Cracking his neck some, he felt the self-inflicted wound heal up.

Claire's eyes widened as he walked into the living room. He was sure he looked like hell, with blood on his hands and the back of his shirt. Giving her an awkward grin, he held up the small chip.

"Got it out."

* * *

"You're sure you're willing to do this?"

"Yes, I'm sure."

"And you're not going to regret helping me?"

"I won't regret it."

"Are you absolutely, positively-"

"Dammit, Claire, would you shut up? I'm trying to help you here!"

Claire jumped at the sudden outburst and clamped her mouth shut. Sylar sighed and pinched the bridge of his nose some. This was getting to be too much.

They were currently in the kitchen, with a sheet spread out across the floor. Claire was sitting backwards in a chair, leaning against the back of it. She was clad in only her cargo pants and a bra, forgoing her other clothes so as to avoid getting blood on them. The cool air in the cabin made goosebumps stand up on her arms. Sylar stood behind her, changed into a new shirt. He brushed back her hair and revealed the dark stitches.

"Ok... I'm getting ready to cut the stitches." He paused. "If you get scared or uncomfortable or anything, just let me know and I'll stop imme-"

"Just do it!"

She couldn't believe she was willingly allowing Sylar to cut into her flesh. It was just... creepy. The last time had been almost three-hundred years ago, when he'd stolen her power. Taking a shuddering breath, she forced that memory back into the depths of her mind. They were past that point now. Yeah. They were mature adults, trying to help each other out. That's what they were. She couldn't keep remembering that every time she saw him.

"And... got it."

Sylar held up the small metallic object, his hands stained now with her blood. Claire felt the incision on her neck healing up.

"Thank you," she said. Sylar shrugged.

"No problem." He paused. "So... are you going to take off now?"

Claire shook her head, her blonde hair flying around her.

"No... not yet, at least. I think I'll lie low... wait for this to blow over, if you don't mind." He nodded.

"I'm always up for company." He looked at the clock as Claire yawned. It was past midnight. "Uhm... I'll take the couch. You can have the bed."

Claire nodded, thanking him silently. It had been a long day, even if they hadn't really done much. Sylar telekinetically cleaned up their mess, throwing the sheet into the trash. As Claire disappeared into the bedroom, he walked over to the couch and stretched out. He was asleep before his head hit the pillow.

* * *

_Maps... maps and satellite images..._

_People rushing around... the constant murmur of their work..._

_A man in a suit in the middle of it all..._

"_Might have found them..."_

"_Small cabin outside of... hasn't been used in over fifty years..."_

"_Park was closed... cabins left standing... intense heat signature..."_

"_Gather a team... let's go..."

* * *

_

Sylar sat up with a gasp. Clutching the couch, he took several deep breaths, attempting to calm himself down. Then, he stood quickly, barging into the bedroom. Claire woke up with a start, staring at him with confusion written across her face.

"Get up. We've got to go. Now."


	7. Traveling

**_A/N: Oh my goodness, I am so sorry I didn't get this chapter up sooner. First I got writer's block like none other, and then real life went into massive overdrive (midterms... AHHH!!!). So I sincerely apologize for leaving you guys hanging. I swear, it was nothing personal._**

**_This chapter was inspired by the song "Rowena" from Mr. Holland's Opus- The Original Soundtrack. I listened to it while writing a majority of this chapter, and I feel it captures the attitude and feelings of especially the middle to later parts of this chapter. Essentially, what I'm saying is that if you're into film scores, you should seriously download this song (legally, of course) and check it out._**

**_Once again, thanks to those who've reviewed/favorited/alerted this story. It means a lot to me!_**

**Disclaimer: Yeah... I still don't own Heroes. Unfortunately. This was written purely for entertainment purposes, no personal profit is derived from this, and no copyright infringement is intended.

* * *

**The house was thrown into a flurry of activity as its two occupants attempted to throw everything back in order... make it appear that no one had been there. Sylar immediately doused the fire with a blast of ice, and the building plunged into an icy cold. Claire's teeth chattered some as she quickly put all the furniture in its proper place. Then, with everything fixed, they walked outside. Sylar had a large dufflebag thrown across his back. He glanced at Claire, and then glanced at the sky.

"You're not afraid of heights, are you Cheerleader?" he asked. Claire shook her head.

"No, why?"

"No time to explain. Just don't let go."

Sylar scooped her up in his arms and leapt into the air. Claire shrieked slightly at the sudden movement. Through squinted eyes, she looked down at the ground, and saw it disappearing rapidly. Oh, God, maybe she was afraid of heights!

Sylar sighed, sensing her unease.

"Calm down, Cheerleader," he yelled above the rushing wind. "I won't drop you. And even if I did, you wouldn't die."

Claire grumbled something under her breath as she tightened her grip around the serial killer's neck. He really did know how to make someone feel better.

* * *

Snow whipped through the air as several helicopters hovered over the small cabin. Two tactical teams fast roped down the sides of their respective choppers and carefully made their way to the house. One in the front counted down with his fingers, and then kicked in the door.

The house was cold when they walked in, and their breath misted up above them. The soldiers moved through quickly, expertly, clearing the small cabin room by room. Finally, they deemed the entire house clear. Bennet walked in and surveyed the scene.

"Search everything."

The small building was instantly thrown into a complete state of chaos as the soldiers began tearing through it, searching for some clue. Bennet started walking slowly through the house. Over the clang of pots and pans in the kitchen, he could hear the soldiers quickly and efficiently communicating. The living room had books strewn across the floor, each one open and with a few pages torn out. It was a shame, really. They could've donated the books somewhere. Everyone knew any museum would pay top dollar for something as old and obsolete as that. After all, anything that was read nowadays was done so on a small tablet that could be taken anywhere. It had been created in an effort to help relieve the back problems that school-age children had been suffering from, and eventually had turned into a basic commodity. Bennet almost had half a mind to tell them to stop; the Company could always use some help to give it a good reputation. But he didn't. Finding Gabriel and Claire were too important for petty history.

The search continued through the night and into the morning. By then, they'd smashed holes into the walls, tore up the floorboards and removed almost everything from the walls. The small cabin looked like a tornado had hit it, with stuff strewn everywhere, and whenever someone went to walk through it, they had to dodge rather large piles of stuff. Bennet hopped over a few floorboards and brushed some sheetrock dust off his jacket as he walked through the house, monitoring their progress.

"Bennet!" a voice yelled. He looked up and saw one of the soldiers holding a white sheet. As he walked over to him, he noticed the red that stained it. The soldier held it out to him, a worried look on his face.

"There's blood all over this sheet, Sir," he said. Bennet nodded.

"I can see that." The soldier shook his head.

"You don't get it, Sir. This blood is red. If it was old, it'd be brown." He paused, letting his words sink in. "They've been here, Sir. And judging by the state of this sheet, I'd say we just missed them."

* * *

They'd stopped in the small city of Harlan, Kentucky for a few minutes during their traveling, just long enough for both to stop into a small coffee shop and warm themselves with the dark, hot liquid. The last convenience store in the US had closed over one-hundred years ago. Now, there was a specialty store for almost anything. Sylar inwardly grumbled about the cost of the coffee. Just one sixteen ounce cup of a regular brew cost over five dollars. It was worse than Starbucks! Then he remembered how inflated the economy had become over the past fifty years. It wasn't like the government was going to do anything about it; they'd already learned from history that they couldn't do anything to better the economy. No amount of stimulus bills passed would help pick things up. So, they turned their efforts to something a little more immediate- international affairs.

After the two fugitives had defrosted some, they took off once more. The large storm had slammed into Louisville, just like it'd hit most every state on the middle and northern East Coast. At least it had stopped snowing there. They managed to find a relatively cheap hotel and checked in under fake names. Sylar immediately bee-lined to the bathroom, muttering something under his breath about frozen body parts and ice-floes. Claire ignored him, choosing to sit on the bed closest to the window. With a sigh, she drew her knees up to her chest and rested her chin on them.

The city outside was booming, despite the thick layer of snow that had blanketed it. Strobing lights flashed on ecologically friendly buildings made mostly of recycled materials. All she could see were skyscrapers across the horizon. Single-story buildings didn't exist anymore, and almost everyone lived in huge buildings with anywhere from one-thousand to five-thousand other peoples. Populations had exploded after both the Third World War and the Fourth, and the cities had been forced to adapt to it. Their response was stuffing as many people into a building as tall as they could safely build.

It was obscene, compared to what she'd grown up seeing.

Times like these forced her to question how she'd gotten here... how she'd managed to live this sort of life. She couldn't help but to wonder what her dad would think of this. He'd probably laugh in disbelief. Despite his outwardly progressive attitude, he was still old-fashioned at heart.

Claire let out a sarcastic chuckle, shoving a hand through her tangled and windswept hair as she stood and walked over to the small window-seat. It was funny, ironic even, how history seemed to be repeating itself. Hadn't it been something like two-hundred years ago when she'd been running from the Company for the first time? Some things, she guessed, never changed. She would always be a freak. Sylar would always be a serial killer and her arch-nemesis. And the Company would always be looking for them.

With another sigh, Claire let her chin rest on her knees once more. Some life she was living. She would've thought she'd learned how to live a normal life over the past few hundred years. But she hadn't.

"And now look where I am."

* * *

The hot water was soothing on Sylar's tense muscles. He leaned forward some, resting his forearms on the tiled wall as the water streamed down his back. They could probably stay here for one night, two at the max. Then they'd have to move again... run away once more. That would be their life until either that Bennet man died or the Company gave up on finding them.

In a way, he almost felt guilty for how they were now being forced to live, and that was saying something. He knew how to control the hunger; there was no excuse for him not to. But instead, he'd decided to be spiteful... to piss the cheerleader off. And look where that got them. They were stuck in a cheap hotel in the middle of Kentucky, running from Company agents who wanted nothing more than to use them as lab rats.

What a lovely life he lived.

Stepping out of the shower, he quickly dried off and then donned the dirty clothes he'd been wearing earlier. Sylar made a mental note to go buy some new ones whenever he got the chance.

Claire was sitting in the little window-seat when he came out of the bathroom, looking out over the city. She didn't move when he opened the door, nor did she give any indication that she knew he was in the room once more. Instead, she sighed, shaking her head some.

"And now look where I am," she muttered, seemingly to no one. Sylar walked over to the bed closest to the door and sat down.

"We'll stay here for two days max," he started, causing the cheerleader to jump. "That'll give us enough time to get some new clothes and then figure out where we can go next."

Claire nodded, understanding where he was coming from.

"How'd you know they were coming?" she asked. Sylar shook his head some. He had been hoping she wouldn't ask that question.

"Precognitive dreaming," he answered. "From Angela. She-... she taught me how to use it before she... you know. Died."

"And flight?"

"I stole from your Dad. Bio-Dad. Nathan."

"Before you killed him."

Sylar winced inwardly, then nodded slowly.

"Yes. Before I killed him."

Claire shook her head, her eyes showing disdain. She stood and walked over to the other bed, pulling the covers down. As she sat down, she kicked off her shoes. He could feel her pain and confusion without seeing her face. Sylar opened and closed his mouth a few times, looking and feeling like a floundering fish as he tried to find the right words to say.

"Claire, I-"

"I don't care." She swung her legs up into the bed and pulled the covers up to her chin. "I'm going to bed."

"But, I-"

"_Goodnight_, Sylar."

With a deft flick of her wrist, Claire turned off the lamp, plunging her side of the room into darkness and effectively ending the conversation. Sylar let out a long breath, rubbing his forehead some. He knew he wasn't going to be able to get to sleep. Truth be told, he hadn't really slept well for the past fifty years. On a good night, he maybe got four hours. The rest of the time, he usually read, sometimes manuals and training books, other times classic literature, but always in the old fashioned way- thick sheets of paper bound together. Unfortunately, he wasn't at any of his houses, so he had absolutely no access to any books at all. It didn't matter, though. The Company had probably found all his houses by now, and they'd probably trashed everything in them. Those people had no appreciation for what their past was, only their future. And while looking towards the future was great, Sylar had always been a firm believer in the idea of one having to know their past in order to know where they wanted or needed to go in the future.

Once he heard Claire's breathing deepen and slow, Sylar stood, walking over to the door that led to the balcony. The city was still alive and bustling, despite the obscene hour. Sylar rested his arms on the railing and leaned into it some, his breath misting above him. Hiro had managed to teach him teleportation before he'd died, but not time travel. Silently, he wondered if traveling back to 2209 and stopping their meeting in that North Carolina bar would prevent any of this from happening. It's not like it would do any good, though. And besides, Hiro had always preached that he must never change the past. Truth be told, Sylar would almost see it as a dishonor to the Japanese man if he attempted to do something like that.

He remained on the balcony the rest of the night, thinking about various topics as they came to him. When the sun began to peak over the horizon, Sylar crept back into the room. Claire was still asleep, lying flat on her back, her blonde hair spread out around her head like a halo of sorts. It took him a few moments, but Sylar eventually located the complementary notepad and pen and scribbled a note on it for the cheerleader. Then, he walked out of the room.

* * *

Sylar was nowhere to be found when Claire woke up. Rolling over, she looked at the clock projected on the wall. It was just past 9:00 AM.

Standing, Claire stretched some, attempting to shake the tension from her limbs as she staggered into the bathroom. She'd never been much of a morning person, and all the traveling she was doing wasn't helping any either. Reaching into the shower, she turned it on. Steam filled the air as she closed the bathroom door.

Twenty minutes later, Claire stepped out of the shower and wrapped herself in one of the towels in the room. She heard the door to the room open and close as someone walked in. Sticking her head out the door, she saw Sylar setting several bags down. He looked up and saw her.

"I went ahead and got us some new clothes. I hope you don't mind."

Claire shook her head, padding softly out of the bathroom. Sylar held a single bag out to her, averting his eyes.

"These are yours. I hope they're to your liking."

Claire nodded and took the bag before walking back into the bathroom to change into them. He'd bought similar clothes to those he'd gotten before. Once again, she found herself pulling on a pair of cargo pants that were slightly long on her, though these were dark brown instead of the previous black. She pulled a white wife-beater over her head and then topped that with a white waffle-knit long-sleeve shirt. Digging farther in the bag, Claire found a light blue hooded cable-knit sweater. She had to admit it- while she knew Sylar was going more for function over fashion, he did know how to pick out some decent clothing.

"Keep your old clothes," he told her when she came out of the bathroom. He held out the olive green dufflebag that he'd brought with him. Claire could see his old clothes were already in it. She obliged to his request, though, and shoved the dirty clothes down in there. In the meantime, Sylar dug through another bag and produced a pair of socks and a shoe box. He handed them to Claire. The shoes inside were brown sneakers with pink and white detailing on the sides.

"I think we should probably leave here sometime later today," he said. "I checked around some, and there's a train that leaves here for St. Louis this evening. We should probably be on it."

And indeed, the two fugitives found themselves sitting in a compartment in a train car that was speeding towards the Missouri city. Sylar had slept (or feigned sleep; either way, Claire couldn't tell the difference) for the first hour-and-a-half. He woke up when the attendant had come by to ask them if they needed anything. Claire hid a smirk at his startled reaction, and turned, looking out of the window.

"Penny for your thoughts?"

For the first time since they'd boarded the train, Sylar broke the silence that had fallen between them. Claire turned and looked over at him. She could tell him she was fine, but they'd both know that was a lie. And truth be told, Claire really didn't want him reading her mind again.

"How long are we going to keep this up?" she asked. "Running from city to city... hiding under assumed names... how long will this last?"

"As long as it takes," Sylar answered, leaning back in his seat. "Besides, we're both experts at this. After all, we've both got at least two hundred years experience. Personally, I could do this the rest of my life. Hell, I probably will do this the rest of my life."

"So we're just going to keep running from the Company?"

Sylar fixed a leveling gaze upon the blonde woman sitting across from him, his dark eyes serious.

"Face it, Cheerleader- there is nothing else we can do. The Company will always be searching for us. They will not leave us alone until they capture us, or until we drop off the face of the Earth again."

Claire's green eyes sharpened some as she looked at the serial killer.

"I'm tired of running, Sylar," she said, her voice clipped. "I ran from all my problems before. I cannot keep running from them now."

Sylar crossed his arms and propped an ankle on his knee.

"So what do you suggest we do?"

Claire dropped her voice some as she leaned forward, resting her arms on her knees.

"We're both essentially immortal, Sylar. And you've seen the inside of the compound in DC. You know important things about it. You know how it works, you know who's there... you could probably run the place if you wanted to." She looked at him, a slight smirk playing on her young features. "What I'm suggesting is that we destroy the Company... once and for all."


End file.
